


Remember

by apostapals (apostapal)



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-07
Updated: 2015-09-07
Packaged: 2018-04-19 14:57:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4750541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apostapal/pseuds/apostapals
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Inquisitor takes a good blow to the head and wakes up with some very concerned people to remember. (There’s blood.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Remember

He sits up, tasting copper and feeling his pulse in his very skull, and briefly wonders who he is. It floods back quickly; he is  _Lavellan_ , he is a  _mage_ , and he is the  _Inquisitor_ –these are his identifiers. Though perhaps not always in that order.

He spits, blood and saliva preventing him from finding his voice, and tries to see the faces around him.

_Cole_. He knows Cole instantly. Though neither he nor Cole is sure who Cole really is. Or what makes him  _him_.

Another; a woman looking stern but oh so concerned. His mind finds her name in her dark hair and high cheekbones.  _Cassandra_. She looks more upset than he’s used to.

Then there is the person closest to him. Speaking in a language he knows only pieces of, grey eyes full of worry and tan hands reaching to clutch his face–turning it with great care to get a better look at whatever has caused his brain to skip a beat. He smells familiar, most of all; like old books and spiced tea. His voice finally finds itself when his mind finds a name for this one.

“ _Dorian._ ”

“Damned fool!” the other mage hisses, trying to get a better look at the bloody gash on Icarus’ temple, “Moron!”

The next thing he has to say comes out half in Tevene, emotion overriding his ability to stay in one language. He presses something to the Inquisitor’s temple, blotting the blood away. Absently, Icarus realizes he recognizes the word for ‘fuck’ in the string of words bubbling nervously from Dorian’s mouth and finds himself oddly proud of this.

“It’s okay, ma vhenan.” the mage slurs, patting a weak hand against the other man’s forearm, “I remember.”

“Remembering the demon almost taking your head off doesn’t improve the situation any.” Dorian replies shortly, free hand digging in the Inquisitor’s pack for healing salve.

The elf laughs, head just a little less cloudy, and says, “No. I don’t remember that. I remember you.”  
  
Dorian sighs audibly through his nose but can’t fight a small smile from playing on his lips even in his worrying.  
  
“Well,” he replies, “that’s something.”


End file.
